Amy, My Daughter (16 page)

Salaam Remi's presence enhanced Amy's good streak. They worked at Henley during the weekend and laid down a track, which Amy told me I would like. She hoped it would be on her next album, which would come out who knew when – not that there was any pressure on her from the record company to complete it. Much to my surprise, she sounded fine when I spoke to her and still hadn't taken any drugs. I supposed only time would tell me if this was the truth.

14
DRUGS – THE ROCKY ROAD TO RECOVERY

The few days that Amy worked with Salaam Remi did her a lot of good and Raye came back making lots of positive noises about what he'd heard. But when Salaam had returned to the US, there was no reason for Amy to remain at Henley and, once more, she was back in London. She came with a more determined attitude and I felt that things were gradually changing for the better.

Later that week she told me she had made an appointment to see Dr Mike McPhillips, a consultant psychiatrist and an expert in the treatment of addicts, from Capio Nightingale. For me this showed major progress: first, Amy had chosen to see a doctor; second, she'd made the appointment herself; and third, she turned up. Dr McPhillips was very encouraging and started her on a new Subutex programme almost immediately. I'd been nagging her for months, but at long last it seemed that she was trying to take control of her recovery. She had started thinking for herself again, and later that week she refused to visit Blake as Georgette was going to be there.

The second week in May brought the great news that the CPS had dropped all charges against Amy relating to the crack-cocaine video. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. But while I was obviously glad that the police had dropped the case, doubt niggled at the back of my mind. Part of me felt that that the prospect of prison had helped to keep her in check for the past couple of weeks. I hoped that she wouldn't see this as a licence to be bad again.

I knew that Amy wanted to celebrate her good news but my anxiety went through the roof when she told me she was going to Pete Doherty's concert at the Forum in Kentish Town. He had just been released from prison for drug offences and was the last person I wanted Amy hanging around with. Maybe I had to bite the bullet and trust her judgement on this one. After all, it wasn't too early to put her resolve to the test.

The next day there were photos of Amy and Doherty all over the papers. They had partied until the early hours at Prowse Place and the paps had lots of shots of them together, clearly the worse for drink. I heard later that Amy and Doherty had been seen kissing earlier in the evening. What was she thinking? I hoped and prayed that she would think twice before getting romantically involved with another loser. Just a few days before she had seemed to be in control of her life. I didn't understand how everything could change so quickly.

The next day I confronted Amy, making my feelings very clear. ‘What are you thinking about, messing around with Doherty? Just because you're getting divorced from one idiot doesn't mean you should start up with another.'

She laughed dismissively. ‘Me and Blake aren't getting divorced, Dad. I love him.'

There had been lots of stories about Blake in the press over the past couple of months. In February he'd written Amy a letter distancing himself from Georgette after she'd made some comments in the
News of the World
. I'd shown the letter to the press and told them what I thought of Blake and his family. In response, I got a vile, abusive and threatening text from Georgette. Since then the retaliation had continued in the media. The latest piece from Georgette, in the
News of the World
on 11 May, was a claim that ‘Blake must leave Amy or
she
will destroy him'. Georgette added that Blake wanted a divorce from Amy and a mere £3 million as a settlement.

But Amy clearly hadn't taken this to heart: despite her actions with Doherty, she was adamant that she loved Blake. Confusingly, she also said she was still seeing Alex Haines. I asked her how she could do that if she loved Blake. She told me that I wouldn't understand. She was right. And perhaps this was just Amy putting her head in the sand because the next week I heard that Blake was filing for divorce. He said he didn't want any of Amy's money.

But I was really worried about Amy. Her nurse had told me she was doing well with the Subutex, but she wasn't eating properly. She was still painfully thin and, more than ever, she needed her strength to get through her recovery. I'd been regularly delivering the deli food Amy liked to the house, with the hope she might at least be inclined to pick at it, but now she was in Wiltshire with Doherty and I couldn't get hold of her. The news of the divorce might send her into a downward spiral, pushing her back towards drugs.

I hadn't spoken to her for forty-eight hours. Frantically I called around and eventually discovered that she was okay and due back in London later that night. When I spoke to her the next day she was fine, although she was clearly very upset about the divorce, and I spent a long time on the phone bucking her up. She hadn't slept for thirty-six hours and had spent the whole time drinking, but she assured me she hadn't taken any drugs. When I heard her utter those words I felt like we'd got over another huge hurdle. Until she added, ‘Tomorrow's mine and Blake's anniversary. Wish me happy anniversary, Dad.'

The words stuck in my throat.

Delighted though I was at the prospect of Blake leaving our lives, I worried about the impact it would have on Amy. She'd been obsessed with him since they'd first met, God only knew why, and – like a drug – she couldn't get him out of her system. Much as I wanted him and his family gone, I was more than aware of how hard this would be on Amy. The next day I went to see Blake in Pentonville to talk about the divorce. He seemed clear of drugs and insisted that he wanted to help Amy get clean as well – I didn't believe a word of it. Shortly afterwards I learned that Amy had been seeing Christian, another of her friends, and that she had told Blake. Although she was sticking rigidly to the drug-replacement programme, other parts of her life, her marriage in particular, were unravelling and there was no telling how this would affect her current attempt at recovery.

 

*   *   *

 

On 22 May Amy became the first artist to receive two nominations for what is widely regarded as the top Ivor Novello award, Best Song, Musically and Lyrically. She won the award for ‘Love Is A Losing Game', which I thought was a better choice than ‘You Know I'm No Good', but the whole ceremony was a bit of disaster.

When I arrived at her house, Amy was feeling fine, on good form, but as usual she wasn't ready. She told me to leave her to it and that she would meet us at the hotel where the ceremony was taking place. By the time Amy's category was called, she still wasn't there. In the end, I went up to accept the award on her behalf. I followed Phil Collins – it was a surreal experience, but my speech was well received, and when I got back to the table Amy was there. She looked fabulous, in a gorgeous yellow dress and red shoes. It was a stark contrast to how she had looked at Henley just a few weeks earlier and I was delighted to see her looking like this. The only thing I didn't like was the heart-shaped hairpin with Blake's name on it.

Much like the Grammys had been, this was another wonderful celebration – the Ivors always meant so much to Amy – and that night she told me she was going to a studio in Bath the next day to work with Salaam Remi. Sadly this didn't happen – pick your own reason why. I was fed up with making excuses for her. Despite this no-show, though, she seemed to be focusing on her music again. After months of sinking deeper and deeper into the mire, she was writing properly again. I felt liberated.

The following week she had a gig in Portugal. The day before she was due to fly, I went around to her house to wish her good luck. To my horror, Geoff was there. Amy said he had called around uninvited and that she was still clean, and Geoff claimed he wasn't there to sell Amy drugs, but I was furious. I kicked him out and had a huge row with Amy. I didn't understand how she could be so stupid, but she insisted she hadn't taken anything. I wished her good luck for Portugal and she hugged me, but I left feeling incredibly anxious. Once again, we were teetering on the edge of the mire. Deep down I was waiting for something to push Amy in.

Amy made her flight to Portugal, even cutting short a visit to Blake to be sure she didn't miss her plane. According to Raye, she gave a fantastic show to the 90,000-strong crowd. Apparently the audience couldn't get enough of her. When I spoke to her later that day, she had a sore throat from singing, but she'd loved it and told me she wanted to do more live gigs, which confirmed to me that she was on the road to recovery. This cheered me up, and I rang my son Alex to tell him, then Jane: ‘I'm finishing work early. I'm on my way home. Let's go out for dinner.'

A couple of days later Blake's trial started at Snaresbrook County Court; Amy turned up late and left early, but she'd bought an outfit especially for the occasion and looked very smart. She called me late that night and told me how much she still loved Blake. At that stage, she was unaware that our solicitors had received a letter from his, confirming his intention to divorce her. Being the coward that he is, he hadn't mentioned it to Amy when she saw him before she went to Portugal.

On 6 June we were told that if Blake pleaded guilty he might only serve another eight weeks in prison. He stood in the dock and giggled as he pleaded guilty to inflicting grievous bodily harm and perverting the course of justice. His co-defendant, Michael Brown, pleaded guilty to the same charges. They were both remanded in custody for sentencing at a later date. James King was aquitted of his charge. My heart sank as I left court. I had visions of Amy and Blake tumbling back into the black hole of drug abuse if he was freed. The only solution I could see was to get Amy completely clean over the next two months, but with the constant setbacks, and the drug-dealers, who were always hanging around, that seemed impossible. The following Sunday I had to throw four people I didn't like the look of out of Amy's house.

It turned out that I'd been fooling myself in thinking we had two months to go before a problem arose. On Monday, 16 June, Amy had another seizure. By the time I got to Prowse Place Dr Romete was with her. I asked her if the seizure had been brought on by drugs; she didn't know but wouldn't rule it out. Amy was in no fit state to ask. She was taken to the London Clinic, where she had lots of tests, but nobody could tell me if she had been taking drugs. I suspected she had, although I decided not to question her. I couldn't face either of the alternatives: the lie or the truth.

Amy had a comfortable night and the following day she was given Subutex. But Dr Paul Glynne, in charge of Amy's medical team, told me he was unhappy with the results of Amy's CT and ECG scans. She had gunk in her lungs and possibly nodules too. The bottom line was, she could die if she didn't change her lifestyle. It was a stark and shocking diagnosis, but I wasn't surprised. I wondered how Amy would react to the news.

For at least a year, I'd known that Amy's recovery wouldn't be easy, but before the seizure, she'd been on such a good stretch that I had lulled myself into a false sense of security. This diagnosis brought me crashing down to earth. I feared, I suppose, that one day I might have to face the worst outcome of Amy's addiction; I'd tried to pretend it wasn't going to happen, that I wouldn't need to consider it, but here it was. Amy could die from the misuse of drugs, and everything a father could want for their daughter might end with me in tears beside a hospital bed.

To make matters worse, Blake wouldn't leave me alone: he was calling and texting non-stop. ‘I feel I'm out of the loop,' one message said. ‘Tough!' I replied. I was at the end of my tether.

Amy slept through that night, and I was back at the hospital at seven thirty the following morning. At three o'clock she and I saw Dr Romete and Dr Glynne. They were both very blunt: if she continued for one more month in her current lifestyle, she would be dead. Perhaps the seizure had been a blessing in disguise, the doctors said, and I agreed. Maybe it had been the wake-up call Amy needed. She could hear it in no more certain terms than that.

Amy was very frightened. Her hand was shaking when she clasped mine – I'd never seen her so scared before. She assured us that she was off drugs for good. But it wasn't as simple as that.

The next day Amy felt and looked a lot better. We had a good long chat and covered a lot of ground. We talked about my mum and dad, our favourite Sinatra songs, what colour she should paint the living room in Prowse Place, who in our family made the best cup of tea – that sort of thing. I kept steering the conversation back to her getting clean, but she was smart and kept spotting it. Eventually we were both just laughing. There was further good news when Dr Glynne showed us Amy's CAT scan results and confirmed there was no need for a biopsy.

Every day after that Amy improved, and on 22 June, six days after her seizure, the doctors allowed her out to rehearse for the forthcoming concert in honour of Nelson Mandela's ninetieth birthday.

A couple of days later Dr Glynne told us how pleased he was with Amy's progress. I was thrilled to hear Amy was doing well, but she wasn't really taking her illness seriously any more. Dr Glynne had emphasized how careful she needed to be with her lungs, but as soon as he left she went out for a cigarette. The next day, she rehearsed again for the Mandela concert, and had too much to drink. There was no talking to her. All she wanted to talk about was Blake and getting him to do rehab at the London Clinic. I told her she must be crazy.

But 27 June was the sort of day that made all of the aggravation and bad times worthwhile … well, almost worthwhile. Amy's performance at Mandela's birthday tribute was stunningly brilliant: she looked great, she sounded fantastic and the audience loved her. Most important of all, she enjoyed herself. She didn't drink or smoke on stage and sang two songs, ‘Rehab' and ‘Valerie', then took the lead vocal in the final song, ‘Free Nelson Mandela'. I don't know how many people noticed that in ‘Free Nelson Mandela', Amy was singing ‘Free Blakey my fella'. She hadn't planned it, she said. It had just come to her while she was singing.